


Something Terrible, Something Wonderful

by Nefaria_Black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Morning Sickness, Pregnancy, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 06:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14785064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefaria_Black/pseuds/Nefaria_Black
Summary: "She was pregnant with the Dark Lord's heir and it was both the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her and the most terrible one."One shot, written for a bunch of promptsWarnings inside, heed them





	Something Terrible, Something Wonderful

**Author's Note:**

> Warning - This work discusses abortion, please be aware of your sensibilities and proceed accordingly. Plus, bella isn't exactly sane

**Something Terrible, Something Wonderful**

Bellatrix felt unusually lazy this morning. Leaving her warm four-posted bed was never an easy task, but this morning it felt unsurmountable at best. She stretched under the blankets, feeling every joint come to life after an entire night of stillness. She caressed the place on the sheets that belonged to her husband, and thought it weird that he was not there. She was usually the one that had to wake him up. She turned over, lying on her belly and raising her head from the pillow, and hissed at the pain on her breasts. They felt tender.

She dismissed that slight discomfort the second her eyes focused on the clock. It was half-past ten. She never slept in, there was always something too important for her so stay in bed past eight. If there wasn’t a mission, she would train downstairs in the ballroom, or interrogate prisoners, or go out and terrify Muggles for the fun of it.

Bellatrix tossed the covers aside almost violently, huffing her frustration. This would not do. She should have reported to her Master already.

Her body rebelled against gravity. She was dizzy at once, having to support herself on the post of the bed. Then she was nauseous, terribly so, and had to cover her mouth with her other hand just to stop herself from heaving whatever might remain in her stomach from the previous night. She managed to fight the nausea and forced her body to stand straight, unaided.

She couldn’t be sick. Not now, when there was so much to do. Her Master would be displeased. That thought sent a jolt of fright down her form. _He_ would be displeased with her. She had fought back the illness after Azkaban and her injuries after the disgraced battle at the Ministry, but she was out of leeway now. Her Master’s cause was gathering crucial momentum and he would not have the weak drag him down.

The dark haired witch gathered her wild curls, made kinkier overnight by the bed, and tied a ribbon of black silk around a sloppy ponytail. She could comb it later, right now she needed to make herself presentable for the Dark Lord. Plus, he liked her wild hair. She took a few hurried steps to a chair where she had left her dress last night and flicked her wand at it, cleaning it.

She had just put her head through the opening at the top when her stomach came back to life. She had to toss the dress aside and run for the bathroom. There was nothing in her stomach for her to throw up, but it still convulsed, almost painfully, for a while. Bellatrix despised weakness, and she did despise her body just then.

She forced her body up and, since she was already in the bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth before heading back out into the bedroom to get dressed. She used her magic to do the lacing at the back of her dress and then of her corset, which made noticeable just how sore she actually felt. The rational part of her mind, the small portion of sanity that had survived Azkaban, provided her with a perfectly sensible explanation, but she couldn’t be sure.

She pointed her wand at her bedside table. She kept a calendar in one of the drawers, and she and taken to striking off the days with a quick swish of her wand. It helped her keep track of time, but she hated the thing so she kept it out of sight.

The small object came flying towards her and she was reminded instantly of why she hated the thing. It helped her keep track of days and weeks and months, but it was also proof of just how many days and even entire weeks she lost. She flicked between the pages of October and September, running her fingers through her hair when faced with the astonishing amount of days she had missed. On the month of September, she found none of her usual markings for the first day of her cycle. She couldn’t remember why just now, but something in the back of her mind had kept reminding her that it was important to keep track of it.

She turned to August, and there she found the little mark, right at the end of the month. Those days must have been good, she thought, since she hadn’t missed any for about a week and a half. Then, in September, it had all gone up in smoke. She had missed almost entire weeks at a time, and she could not, for the life of her, remember why. She remembered her work for the Dark Lord, precisely and in detail, but she was incapable of putting dates to those days. Or to the nights she very vividly remembers having spent with him. She had not missed the last days of September, though, for they were neatly stricken off, but there was no tell-tale mark to be seen in any of those.

Her head seemed to swirl then, and she was so faint that she had to sit down on the floor. She stayed there, unmoving, holding the calendar in her hands, eyes mesmerized. There was a what-if forming in her mind, and her heart thudded in her chest already. She was late. Weeks late, over a month actually. She brought one hand to her mouth. It would be wonderful, she would provide an heir to the Dark Lord, and there would be proof, living, breathing proof, of her spirit, of her faithfulness, of her loyalty.

It would be terrible, her mind screamed at her the next second. Her Master despised weakness and she had seen enough witches pregnant to know just how weak they became. She was already nauseous and feeling tired, how would she keep up her service to her Master? What when her body started to change? What if she couldn’t go to battle because of it? What if this child deprived her from the very thing that held her sanity together?

If carrying this child meant displeasing the Dark Lord... No! She could not go down this path, she would displease him with her weakness and he would shun her.

Her mind was running, burning, frantically grasping at the remaining bits of sanity. He would punish her for being sloppy with her potions, he would never allow her back into his bed, he would never touch her again… He would be displeased, and that was more than she could bear.

But it was still a what-if. She needed to be sure first. Not getting up, fearful she might fall and harm the child, if there was one to begin with, she pointed her wand at her lower belly. All witches learned this spell at Hogwarts, under supervision from the nurse, in a room full of giggles, after a series of lectures on the activities of infatuated wizards and witches. She took a deep breath before letting the words pass her lips. When they did, her lower belly shone golden and warm.

She was pregnant.

She was pregnant with the Dark Lord’s heir and it was both the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her and the most terrible one.

If it were just hers, there would have been no question in her mind. She would have got rid of it with a potion, with no further thought. She was a servant to the Dark Lord and nothing could get on the way of that. Unless her Master had ordered her to carry a Lestrange heir to term, she would have sacrificed her child to the cause. With a grudge, probably, but she would.

This, though, was the child of her Master, she could not sacrifice it. The mere thought of it made her nauseous, but she knew he would be furious with her. He would punish her, he would demand she get rid of it so that she could serve him properly.

Her mind reeled and reeled, fighting with itself, trying to find a way to keep this child and still serve the Dark Lord with all her might. There was none. In all the years she and the Dark Lord had been lovers, never had he ever wanted a child from her. She had suspected she was pregnant once, and he had been furious at the possibility. It had been nothing, but he had been adamant that she was very careful with her potions, using contraceptive spells on her every time he bedded her just to be sure nothing could take root in her womb.

She will have to destroy this life inside of her, he will command it. Except she can’t do it, not with his child, which leaves only one possibility. Treason. She won’t just disobey her Master, she could never. She won’t give him the chance to order her to get an abortion, he will never know.

She will run. She will run, and use everything he ever taught her, every skill he honed to the maximum of her abilities and then beyond them, to vanish from the face of the earth. She will have this child, his child, this wonderful thing of hers, in secret. He will never know.

Slowly, so as not to disturb her sense of balance, she gets up. For a minute, she stands there, both hands pressed to the place within her in which his child grows, reassuring herself that this is the right path. She needs to move quickly now, before her sanity is gone again and she forgets all this. Bella doesn’t think her mind is so far gone that she would forget, but she has learned not to trust it.

Bellatrix looked around her bedroom, and then started gathering her belongings, tossing them into an Expanded bag. They will need a fresh start if her plan is to work, so a change of clothes or two is all she’ll need. Still, she drops books into the bag, with her wide silver hairbrush and a couple more things. They will need money, so she walks to her bedside table to retrieve a pouch of galleons from the bottom drawer.  As she gets up again, she is faint once more. The room spins around her and everything goes dark.

When she comes to, she feels something soft and warm beneath her. Not the floor, she establishes. She realizes she’s on the bed and her eyes burst open with fear. Her pupils widen when she sees the Dark Lord standing there, looking at her with something akin to worry in his features.

Her mind is screaming, even though she is silent, completely so. He must have seen the bag on the bed, he must have realized what she meant to do. She is trying to figure out an explanation that won’t give her secret up, but all she can think is that she will have to lie to her Master.

Treason.

She will displease him, and he will punish her, but maybe she can keep the child a secret. Maybe she can leave on another day.

“Bella? What happened?” His voice is a low growl at the back of his throat, “You were unconscious on the floor when I came looking for you.”

“Ma-Master, you ca-came looking for me?” How can she leave him run from him, when he cares enough about her to come look? “It’s nothing, my Lord, I assure you.”

“Bella,” there’s an almost palpable threat in his tone, “do not lie to me!”

She can’t help but flinch, she knows what comes next. She breaks into sobs before she can stop herself. She hasn’t cried in decades, but her mind is so frazzled, she feels so overwhelmed by it all, that she lets all her fear run out of her in tears.

Lord Voldemort does nothing. His wand was already in his hand, ready to hurt her, but he is now staring at her. She barely sees it when the large, deep green familiar of her Master climbs onto the bed, tasting the air around her with curiosity. All Bellatrix can think is that the snake may be able to smell something different about her and then all will be lost. He’ll be displeased and she will be punished, shunned.

She is given enough time to stop her crying and to dry her tears with her sleeves. Her Master and Nagini are talking, or at least hissing at each other. She has no idea about what to do now. She should be running, but she doubts she’ll make it to the door. The hissing stops. Bellatrix retreats further away from Lord Voldemort, shivering.

“Oh Bella, don’t you remember?” he asks, his voice impossibly soft, almost caring, “I ordered you to stop taking your potion, I casted spells on you to assure that this would happen. You carry my heir because I wished it so.”

She gasps. She doesn’t remember a thing, but he approaches her, slowly, taking her cheek in his cold hand. She leans into it, humming a bit. His touch is all she craves, his pleasure is all she wants to provide.

“Open your eyes, Bella. _Legillimens_.” He enters her mind swiftly, but carefully. It’s dangerous to rattle her mind, it’s too unstable and, once lost, it won’t come back for days. Taking his time, he pulls to the front of her mind all the memories she thought lost, playing them in her mind. Then, he plays the most recent ones, of her thoughts of treason. She flinches away from him and her instincts kick in. She starts building walls, creating mazes, raising all sorts of barriers.

“It’s fine, Bella,” he assures her, retreating willingly from her mind, “you were protecting my child.”

“So, you are not displeased, my Lord? You will not punish me?”

“No, Bella, my precious wicked thing. I am very pleased with you,” there’s a dangerous smile on his face, but Bella knows not to fear this particular smile. He is content.

She has not displeased him. She can keep his child. Her child.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and Challenges:  
> Assignment #9 Sex Ed 5 (Extra Credit) Write about someone pregnant who needs to decide whether or not they want to keep the baby.  
> 365 Prompts Challenge 11 Action - Sleeping in


End file.
